the wolves are coming
by gaysnowball
Summary: What she didn't know was that she was made for him. But she would, soon enough. One-shot. Little Red Riding Hood (minus the evil, plus pre-destined mates).
1. it's a lonely town after all

**A/N: I don't have a fucking clue where my brain went with this but I kept laughing as I re-read it for the sixth time so I hope it at least gives you that joy.**

**This is Little Red Riding Hood where the wolf isn't so bad and Red isn't so clueless. (pretty much werewolves plus sweet red cloaks and sex in the woods.) **

**Smut. Go.**

She was beautiful.

Innocent, pure, light and wrapped in white; a final warning for him to keep his filthy hands off of her. He chuckled, how silly of those weaklings to think that a simple color and piece of chiffon would prevent him from taking what was his.

Pathetic really, he thought they had gotten the message when he claimed her.

-o-

6 years ago, he had raided the village she lived in, a tender age of fifteen years old. He was gigantic for his age, his hair black as night and shoulders broad as a man's. He was still a boy, but no one saw him that way.

He was here to make a deal; try to win the trust of the villagers his father had terrorized. The old man hadn't been a good one; he lived off of fear and used to beat it out of men before stealing their wives. He wasn't a respectable leader and became a faithless alpha obsessed with molding his son into the same kind of monster.

So he killed him.

For the greater good.

Treated like God in the small monotheistic village, he strutted through the street, cloak dragging on the ground, churning dust into the air. People stared at him with stomachs full of ice he could not fault them for. They didn't truly know who he was or what he wanted. Not to mention what mental state he was in after the decimation of his entire pack.

He was here to trade; protection for isolation. No hunting in his forest and there would no longer be any invasions, any outsiders or any beasts to plague them. He walked slowly, pivoting to find the alpha; or _mayor_, as these people called them.

He turned to left and froze, eyes stilled wide open and coat swishing over dead leaves. The crowd murmured uneasily and attempted to follow his gaze, eventually landing on a girl standing beside her mother, head bowed like all the others.

She was pale and had hair like pine bark; dark and long and wavy. It reached her waist and swung against the yellow dress that brushed her knees. Her mother stared at him, eyes wide and wary and she understood what was happening. It was obvious she wasn't happy about his proclamation, but she placed a heavy hand on her daughter's shoulder, causing her to glance up in confusion and finally look his way.

He nearly whimpered when he saw her eyes; deep cobalt eclipsed by distended pupils and a curious inquisition. He wanted to grab her curl her into his arms, to rip the dress off her frame and take her in the snow; shred her maidenhead and claim her with a gruesome love bite. He was practically panting with want, his need to be near her (_**his mate**_) overtaking any other instinct he'd ever felt.

His nanny had always told him to not neck with girls that weren't his mate, because she wouldn't appreciate it once they met. So for years on end he sat and listened to his friends talk about how great sex was instead of experiencing it.

He was young and boisterous, in his prime for reproduction. It was natural to want to pounce and fuck her, and it took everything in him not to do it.

Instead, he inhaled deeply and catalogued her scent for later…relief. She was still staring at him with those big blue eyes and titled her head. He beamed at her, teeth glowing and lips cracking with the width of it.

He turned to see the mayor, finally, and nodded to him. Spinning on his heel, he briskly sauntered down the street and out of town; disappearing into the forest and leaving a confused thirteen year old girl wanting for something she couldn't identify yet.

The looks of disbelief, fear and anger settled on the villager's faces and their mayor grew grim. Looking at the girl he knew her fate had been sealed.

She was claimed.

She was his.

-o-

He smiles, red filling the cracks in his teeth from the buck that lay ripped open at the bottom of the ravine. She's rather naïve to be walking through forests like these on today of all days. Had she been anyone else, he might have torn out her organs for intruding on his territory, but the fact that it was her made for a rather perfect arrangement.

The moon is rising and the sky is beginning to stain it red. Although not a full moon, tonight's lunar pattern was an important one for him; his appearance would still shift slightly and his taste for gore and sex is still high.

She's older now; 6 years have passed since he's been so close. Nineteen and so fresh, so beautiful and so perfect for defiling. Her hair still hangs about her waist; glossy waves that have turned almost black in the night and a figure that almost makes him cry. Her bust is full and tight, her hips wide and waist narrow. Legs made strong and sturdy from years of work and hiking. She's no longer the prepubescent girl he'd first seen.

She's a woman.

A basket is clasped in her hands and her crimson cape tumbles in the wind along with her hair. He can smell the sage soap her mother made; he wants to wash it from her and drill himself into her skin instead. Scent her from the inside out. Push her to the ground and lick at her neck, lave the bruise from impact and fuck her in the pine needles. Indent the ground with their hips and leave her in a screaming, writhing mess with his seed dripping from her womb.

She swings her arms and the basket moves with them, the smell of bread permeating through the air. He grins and steps onto the trail several hundred paces behind her. He follows silently, just watching her for a few minutes and observing the ways her body has matured over the years. She stills a moment and turns, that same fucking curiosity etched in her sharp features.

She catches sight of him and gasps, eyes growing slightly but staying otherwise rooted to where she stands. He groans under his breath and steps forward, anticipating the one she takes backwards. She's afraid; he can smell it, and she should be.

If she had any idea of how he was going to taint her tonight, she'd run screaming.

He closes in gradually, ending with her caged against a tree with his arms on either side of her. He leans in and inhales deeply from the crook of her neck. Groaning, he burrows further, baring his teeth against her skin and making her whimper.

He turns his head to her throat and smiles. "Do you know who I am?" he asks. She nods and gulps, drawing his gaze back to her neck.

"I've been raised as a sacrifice to you."

This surprises him and he draws back, taking in her quivering lips and trembling legs. "Did you know I would come for you tonight?" she nods again and gazes at him with those gigantic blue eyes. He cocks his head and runs his nose along her jaw. "What did they say the sacrifice would entail?"

She breathes deeply and a tear runs down her cheek. "They said you would eat me."

The ridiculousness of the idea has him guffawing loudly and boisterously; canines gleaming red in the moonlight and chest reverberating the sound against her own. She looks thoroughly terrified and even more so confused, brows crinkled and lips quirked in an adorable pout.

He shakes his head fondly and tips her head back with fingers at her chin. "No my dear," he traces her cheek, "I'm going to take you."

And with that, he smashes his mouth to hers, a surprised squeak coming from her as his tongue slips between her lips. She is still frozen as he grasps her ass in his palm and squeezes hard. She meekly pushes against his chest as a small moan escapes her. His grin is pressed against her open mouth as he shoves a hand under her dress, hiking up yards of material, and cups her firmly. She's shocked and aroused at once, attempting to shove his hand away as her undergarments tangle in his fist.

He presses his hand against her harder, grinding knuckles and fingers through her course curls and feeling wetness coat him. When he moves upwards, she keens loudly and stops pushing him, making him freeze and look at her face closer. Her nose is scrunched and her mouth opened in a silent scream, eyes open and pleading with him to keep moving.

He licks his lips and traces calloused fingers around her opening, growing slick and sticky in her essence. He can feel the blood rush under the membranes of his eyes and watches her gasp, no doubt shocked by the optical transition. She slowly raises a hand to brush against his face before he slams two fingers inside her.

She screams shortly, hand falling to his shoulder and piercing the skin where her nails dig in. He presses his chest against hers and hitches a leg around his hip, her skirts still resting on his forearm where he pins her thigh against his pelvis.

The other hand is moving furiously inside her, fingers crooking and curling, trying to draw out more shouts. Her muscles are tensed and her head lolls to the side as her eyes clench closed and she screams loudly, begging him to go faster.

Another finger joins the rest and her pitch rises, stuttering as he thrusts into her. He can smell blood dripping down her leg but pays no heed; watching her garble unintelligible nonsense and groan lowly. He's completely silent as he looks at her with rapt fascination, jaw clenched and cock rubbing against the material of his pants.

He rips open her dress, no longer amused with the ludicrous amount of petticoat, and feels his claws opening underneath his fingernails. His pants fall around his ankles and he pushes her further up the tree, one leg on his waist and the other bent against her chest. He plows into her and the head of his cock bump against her maidenhead, as if begging him to tear through it. She's pleading with him to go slowly, embarrassed by the easy acceptance of him that her flesh allows. He doesn't listen as he pushes harder, ruining the last remnant of her virginity and stamping his claim into her body. Her cunt parts like water and the squelching sounds coming from her have him ramming harder, faster, with more valor.

Her grasps are clumsy and he clutches her hand, putting it on his neck and gripping her hips hard enough that he know there will be bruises in the morning. He kisses her again and his tongue violates her mouth as he pushes harder, forcing her hips into the bark. Her cheat heaves with pleasure-filled sobs as a sudden onslaught of essence from her dripping core makes him ravenous.

He throws them to the ground, her back rubbed raw against the rocks and grass and he grunts and growls, hips slamming into hers and slapping skin against skin. Her spine arches and her limbs flail sporadically, clawing at his back as she cries in pleasure. He bites into her neck; teeth ripping through the skin and her blood flowing across his palette. Suddenly, she is still and her legs fall from his hips; arms beside her head and blood covering her palms where they brushed over the cuts on his back. He's confused and draws back; still pounding into her with curved claws clasping her thighs tightly and mouth drenched in red.

She looks dead and he's scared for a moment, but then her vertebrae bend so quickly it's as if they've been snapped and she's screaming and there's _so much_ _fucking liquid_ rushing around his cock and he knows she finally broke.

He swears his skin is stretched over his bones and he roars, pounding into her so much faster than before; it only takes a few more pumps before he comes inside her; boiling heat hitting her womb and rushing out as he retracts and watches it ooze from her. She's shaking and there are tears on her face from before, but she's not crying anymore. He lays down between her legs with his head resting on her lower stomach and his arms wrapped around the small of her back. Her legs remain bent which is fine with him; it makes it so his head is closer to where it smells like him.

They lay there and he can tell when she drifts off and stops quivering from overstimulation.

He makes a mental note to ask her name in the morning.

-o-

She wakes up alone and naked in a bed of grass where blood and white stain the area beneath her hips. It's painful to sit up and her core is still aching with a vengeance from the night before, but her dried tears are wiped away and she lays there, knowing she won't be alone for long.

He walks back through the trees with fish tied to his belt and a grin on his face. She never really saw him clearly the night before but he is gorgeous; much more so than any of the other boys in her village. His hair is snarled and black; scars litter his face and bare chest; muscles rippling in his arms and torso. His face is more angular than the other's from her home; nose straight, jaw strong, and chin sharp.

He is beautiful and she knows she is weak to admit she has been his since the moment he laid eyes on her half a decade ago. He smiles her way and rakes over her body in a way that makes her cheeks flame as he squats by a fire she didn't notice before and sling the fish from his waist.

She rolls to her knees and crawls up to him, pressing her chest against his back as he cooks. Her thighs are stiff and caked with his seed, but she crawls just the same. He turns slowly and pulls her into his lap, burying his nose in her hair. She feels the smile before he speaks.

"Too soon to do it again?"

-o-

She wakes up- _again_- with him already inside her, thrusting slowly as she's rocked into consciousness and he pulls moans from inside her.

-o-

He demands that she remain naked for the rest of eternity just in case he feels frisky at any given moment and she sighs, knowing she can't deny him anything.

He purrs at her and nuzzles her arm with his head, whispering thing he thinks she wants to hear. "_Rosaline, _you know I only do it because you're gorgeous." He states, running his hands over her bare breasts and tweaking her nipples.

He grins when she squeaks in surprise, though it shouldn't be surprising anymore. He is as insatiable as a teenager, either fucked her while she made flower crowns or pushed her head towards his crotch while she tried to patch up the laceration on his thigh.

"_Erik,_" she mocks, "If I'm going to live in a forest for the rest of my life, I want some clothes." He stares at her blankly, not comprehending the implications of what she was saying. She sighs in exasperation and cards her fingers through his hair. "I need to go to my village so I can get some things."

He looks at her a moment longer and slouches his shoulders. "Alright. But I don't see a reason to wear clothes-"

"You really want other men to be looking at me?"

The reaction is immediate and predictable. His growl resonates against her bicep and an arm twines tightly around her waist as his head burrows further into her shoulder. Rosaline smiles and pats his arm before standing and glancing at her ruined dress.

"You don't happen to have any shirts, do you?"

-o-

The walk into town is quiet as Erik grasps her forearm and walks slightly behind her, red cloak draped around her shoulders and his own coat dragging on the ground. Her village is small and the people it houses even smaller; their daily chores yet to begin as the rugged couple makes their way down to a blue-painted cottage.

She steps inside as Erik waits by the door, the sound of her mother shrieking in delight and crying reaching his ears easily. He grimaces a bit but continues to wait for his mate to hurry the fuck up with her _soap_ and _chemises_ and _comb that I need Erik, yes _need_._

The door opens again and Erik spins to face his mate as she exits backwards, her mother attempting to drag her back inside, insisting "no dear, he'll never find you here." His growl shocks her and the older woman jumps back in surprise, an apologetic look on her daughter's face. She says goodbye for the last time before taking Erik's offered hand and allowing him to lead her once more back into the forest; back into her new home.

Because she is claimed.

Because she is his.

-o-

The dawn is early and heavy mist has settled on the small town, children rise bleary eyed and whining as their mothers push them at the kitchen tables, breakfast already set out for them.

Husbands and sons kiss their respective loved ones goodbye before setting out for work; whether it be a pickaxe, a shovel, a tool belt or axe thrown over their shoulders. And as people begin to mill into the square and begin about their duties, a pair of footprints become imprinted in the mud that the previous night's rain had softened.

No one sees the paw prints at the edge of the woods.

No one mentions poor Rosaline's elderly mother that failed to attend work.

No hears her muffled cries into her pillow.

No one sees a thing.


	2. clawing at the moon

**So. The hunter is finally making an appearance. **

**Also this isn't really a story so please for the love of God don't expect actual updates it will probably just be little blurbs here and there if I feel like it. **

**And sorry but I'm tired and this took way too long so if you're cringing as you read it I apologize but I tried.**

* * *

><p>She wrung her hands and paced. Opened her mouth to speak before shutting it again. He lounged on her husband's old chair, sunken in and haggard from use. She pursed her lips in distaste; such a dirty man sitting in her deceased husband's seat. He was intimidating yes, but this was <em>her<em> home.

"I need you to find my daughter. She was taken; sacrificed to that beast that used to prowl around here. Damned monster may as well have slit her throat when she was just a child, ought to have been better than forced down on him."

He cocked his head to the side and puffed out a trail of smoke, tapping the ashes onto his own coat. He uncrossed his legs and they thudded to the floor from the footrest, his boots marking the polished wood black. She scowled at him and tapped her toes, waiting for him to reply.

"Well?" she said, "Do you take the offer?"

He blinked slowly at her and tilted his head further. "So…you want me to what, kill a demon?"

She scoffed, "Demon. That would suggest that he couldn't die." She sneered at him, shaking her fist and raising her voice. "I want you to kill that _mongrel _for stealing my daughter and her virtue and mount his head above my fireplace."

The huntsman chuckled and puffed on that _damn pipe again I swear to all that is holy-_"What's the pay?'

"Whatever you want." She stated fiercely, jaw clenched. The huntsman stroked his beard. "Gold?"

"Yes."

He smiled in a way that was not entirely reassuring, the sparkle in his eyes malicious.

"Done."

-o-

The tears were coming faster now; it was hard for Rosaline to see. There was _so much blood_ and everything she could see was red; the flowers, the pine needles, her dress and his back.

Her chest heaved with the sobs crawling their way up her throat. He turned to her, panting and spitting out clotted red clumps; it made her want to throw up. He coughed and more disgusting _stuff_ flew out of his mouth, spattering the ground. Rosaline's lips trembled and she stepped back, fear choking her and forcing her to retreat. He swayed a bit before speaking, words she did not expect in a tone that frightened her.

"He's dead."

-o-

Erik swung at the log, axe digging deep into the soggy wood. His wife was sitting demurely in the garden, fanning herself with one of those Japanese contraptions he'd picked off of a travelling ambassador. She was eyeing him and he made sure to give her a show, enjoying it whenever the coyness in her came out to play.

It actually quite ridiculous how she switches between the nineteen year old virgin she hasn't been for over a year now and the quiet seductress she always was. Rosaline smiled at him, too-white teeth shining in the sun as he grinned enough to show all eight canines. She laughed at him as he wiggled his brows and stalked over to her but pushed him away and said he was too sweaty to hug her right now.

Erik snorted and opened his arms. "Oh darling, I'd do a lot more than hug you."

He laughed at Rosaline's red face before turning away and going back to his work. Rosaline fanned herself more vigorously in an attempt to sooth the color of her cheeks and shook her head fondly, a gentle smile gracing her face. But as she turned her head to look past the grass in the small field surrounding their isolated home, she swore she saw a pair of eyes to the north end of the area. This in itself wasn't terribly surprising; there were bound to be animals, she lived in the _woods_, for God's sake. But these eyes made her shiver unpleasantly: human eyes that did not reflect the light of the sun.

Only what was a human doing so far out here?

-o-

He tried not to smile when he saw the girl lock gazes with him. She looked confused and unsettled; she should be. But it was amusing how she tried to brush it off; look back at the man with scars and black hair and forget that there was someone where they should not be.

She was a pretty little thing, what with her hair and her skin. She would fetch a large price for marriage dowries; no wonder her mother wanted her back. It would make the old wench rich.

He sighed, thinking back to a time when he had his own pretty girl to take home. How she cooked so well and sewed even better. How she smiled at everyone, so kind. How she allowed poor hermits a place to sleep beside the fire at night, gracious and selfless. How she opened her legs for the especially attractive ones, how beautiful and irresistible_._ But it was his fault in the end; how she begged for mercy, said they forced themselves on her, how they threatened to kill him in his sleep if she didn't. How he believed her but his knife was already 4 inches deep in her flesh.

His eyes hardened and he stared at the man with scars and black hair. He did not deserve her. He would die for what he had done. What he _would_ do. This was his revenge.

This was for his wife.

-o-

Rosaline's brows were scrunched together and she slowed her fanning. Erik had told her to always follow her instincts, and her gut was telling her that the human eyes out there belonged to a human man and that this man was sick. She saw when she caught his look, how dark his irises were; unnaturally blown-out pupils. It reminded her of how the men looked after amputations in her village, after the medicine man gave them poppies.

Only they weren't poppies; they were something much worse, much more corrupted than an innocent flower. But it made people go mad, the bruises on their skin and under their eyes, the yellow tint to the entirety of their bodies.

Those human eyes were not well and they did not promise good things to come.

With that in mind, Rosaline cleared her throat and called for Erik. He turned and smiled, "What is it?"

She bit her lip and hoped she was making the right choice. "There's a man in the woods."

-o-

Oh dear.

It seemed he had frightened the wolf's pretty little wife a bit more than he had thought. He checked himself over, making sure all his weapons were in order and on his person before a claw ripped him from where he sat and the man with scars and black hair snarled in his face.

_Always a good day to die_, he mused.

-o-

The hunter swung at Erik with a hatchet bigger than his head, slashing and spraying Erik's blood on the grass beneath their feet. There was a terrific gash running from his hip up under his arm and it bled profusely, dripping down the wolf's abdomen. Erik's eyes were burning a bee-stung red and he could feel how his bones squeaked together in an attempt to shift. But it wasn't night and the hunter had the sun on his side.

He dodged another swing from the axe and tackled the hunter to the ground, grinding the bones in his wrist so that he released the handle with a pained gasp. Blunt fingernails dug into the hunter's skin and dark blood ran off his fingers into the dirt below. It didn't last for log though, as the hunter folded his legs to his chest and kicked Erik off, sending him sprawling into the dirt. In the time it took for him to pick himself up, the hunter grabbed his axe and tossed his weight forward, embedding the blade into Erik's right shoulder and dragging it down and across, connecting the lines between his front and back.

Erik seized up and his breath halted. The burning in his spine and the screams of his mate were pulsing in all his senses and he could smell the satisfaction coming from the hunter. He felt the movement in the ground as the hunter stood and began to hobble towards his wife, arms outstretched, and that's all it took for him to snap.

The hunter turned when he heard the growl and registered surprise in his features before a claw raking down his thigh, shredding the femoral artery and causing a scream to erupt from him. Erik's eyes were black now, too dark to catch the light and deeper than Rosaline had ever seen. He dug his fingers into the hunter's arm and squeezed, his fingertips coming together through flesh and bone before he yanked, ripping the appendage away and throwing it off into the trees. The hunter dropped to his knees, mouth contorted in a silent scream and eyes wide open. Erik stared only a moment longer before ripping into his face, eyes coming from their sockets and cheeks being torn to expose the bone of his jaw. Rosaline wanted to turn so her stomach wouldn't revolt, but the sight was too spell-binding to look away from.

So instead she cried.

And Erik told her he was dead.

-o-

Rosaline lay in bed rubbing her stomach, watching Erik pack and tear down useful supplies from the structure of their house. She did not fight him when he said they had to move, to go further into the woods. The world was obviously not willing to let them live so near, and so she nodded and smiled sweetly at him, eyes still a bit blank when she saw the angry red welt peeking through the neck of his shirt.

Erik was afraid that she was afraid of him. Afraid that she was second-guessing ever leaving with him.

But Rosaline was just tired and a bit hysterical after finding out days later that she was pregnant; had been pregnant when her husband almost died. She was coming to terms with the fact that someone really wanted him dead and she could not face a reality where he was not alive, so she built herself into the walls surrounding her mind from the horror of his death.

Erik had simply sighed before kissing her hard and going to put their clothes into trunks.

The one time she really became Rosaline again was in the dead of night, when darkness swathed her with a sense of smothering security and she grasped at him, trying to hold him to her; inside her where he could not be harmed. And she cried and gasped and scratched at his back until it bled and he did not grimace or falter in his thrusts when she caught the healing scab along his spine. Simply pushed harder and attempted to draw more moans out of her.

They moved further into the woods where regular men could not survive, where the _plants_ would kill them sooner than any wolf could and they were safe to live. Rosaline reemerged soon enough, too light to be held inside the confines of a dark mind for long. She laughed again and cooed at small animals as her stomach grew, made baby things out of cloth that she had _no idea how the hell Erik got this, what did you rob a textile mill? _

And her husband was still the boy he'd always been, sticking hands up her skirts as she squawked and sputtered, trying to push him off insisting that the deer were watching and_ let them, they'll become dinner soon enough._

And it was happy and it was good and there was never a hunter, innocent or not, to be seen again.

_Of course there isn't, _Erik grumbled into his meal_, the game's not worth much_ _around here anyway._

-o-

She wrung her hands and paced.

It had been 2 weeks and nothing; no notice, no letter, no _bill_.

She'd been told it would take few days, a week and a half at most, for the task to be finished. But it wasn't, and the hunter hadn't been seen for far too long.

She sat down and held her head in her hands, anger and bitterness chewing at her and searing tears falling down her face. She had given everything to her daughter; because she was everything to her. Who did that beast think he was, stealing her away into the woods?

No place for a creature as beautiful and genteel as her baby girl.

How could the mayor just let him take her like that? With no opposition, no _fight_? She spat out cruel words at the world, so the ground would swallow them and whisper them back into the wind. So everyone would hear her pain and hatred, and know that she had cursed them.

She was angry, and a scorned woman angry was never something to take lightly. She picked up a knife; a heavy, blunt butcher knife stuck in the cutting board from dinner and glared at the fire.

She would take her revenge, even if just for a moment.

They would know what they had to repent for.

-o-

It's heavy with fog, just like it had been all those days ago when her daughter had said her last goodbye. Only this morning, she did not weep, and she did not stare at the paw prints stuck in the mud for hours on end.

Rosaline is tucked safely into her husband's side, warm and coddled with a womb full of child. Though in the village she used to call home, her old house sits empty. People begin to wake, fires are started and breakfast is made. Men kiss their wives and sisters and children goodbye before leaving for work in the cold twilight of the morning.

The mayor and his wife had been sick that week, so no one goes to check on them when their house remains dark and unlit.

No one sees the ripped pillows.

No one sees the blood stains on the bed.

No one sees three corpses, including the one of poor Rosaline's elderly mother.

No one sees a thing.

* * *

><p><strong>Can I get a whoop whoop for chapter parallels?<strong>

**Anyways since this isn't a real thing, you can message me or drop reviews with suggestions for more or whatever because tHIS IS NOt a story.**

**But I do enjoy writing my bbies so please leave me requests.**


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